


Look This Life in the Eye

by MonstrousRegiment



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-20
Updated: 2012-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-31 12:29:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonstrousRegiment/pseuds/MonstrousRegiment
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a locked door in Xavier Hall to which no one has access. In making inquiries, Erik realizes he's built his opinion on Charles on the wrong foundations.</p>
<p>
  <i>“You thought I was going to hit you?”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Charles’ eyes dart away, shoulders pulling in as if he were trying to curl in on himself. Erik feels something tight inside his chest coil in even tighter as his stomach turns.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for this prompt: Erik and Charles get into a serious fight.It can be about whatever but pre-divorce please.They're screaming when Erik brings his hand up to brush his hair out of his eyes-and Charles flinches. Cue lots of H/C, guilt and protectiveness on Erik's part, and maybe Charles talking to Erik about his abusive parents.

There’s a room, upstairs in the top floor, that is locked under key and never opened. 

Erik knows that Charles has moved on to occupy what used to be his father’s room, with its adjacent library study and bathroom, and Raven has taken residence in Charles’ mother’s bedroom. 

Nobody’s touched this one. 

Not even William, the old butler that practically raised Charles and Raven all on his own, goes anywhere near it. 

They’ve no need of it, of course—Xavier Hall is huge and rooms are aplenty. Erik is more than comfortable in his own room, much more Spartan that Charles’ or Raven’s but still opulent in comparison to his usual lodgings. The children are fascinated with the size of their bedrooms—Sean’s gone and insisted his is bigger than his parents’ living room, which is slightly disturbing. 

But the room is locked and under key and no one goes near it, and Erik is curious to the point of insidiousness. 

He asks Charles one morning, and for the first time since they have met he witnesses Charles reach the one subject he is not willing to be open about. It seems to Erik that this is the pinnacle of hypocrisy—Charles has seen everything Shaw did to him—but when he points that out Charles dissolves in apologies and grows so pale Erik feels like his words were somehow akin to hitting him in the jaw. 

Something doesn’t quite sit right there, though. 

Erik shrugs, swallows the unease clawing at his chest, and swiftly changes the subject. He thinks, _I’ve seen that reaction before. But when?_

He asks William next. 

The old, dignified butler gives him a shrewd look. 

“You have your traumas,” he says quietly, turning on the stove. “Young master Charles has his.”

This, unsurprisingly, does nothing to assuage Erik’s curiosity. 

Opening the lock would be so stupidly simple. The mechanism is metal, and Erik is the master of metal, commands it like he commands his lungs, his fingers. Metal is a part of him and the door would not oppose him. 

But he doesn’t open it. 

There’s some hidden, long forgotten memory at the back of his mind trying to break free and tell him something, but Erik is not a telepath, he can’t direct his mind to do as he likes. He won’t ask Charles to do it for him, either, because he feels like this is something he needs to get to on his own.

It takes two days for Erik to jar out of a half-doze, in the darkness of his bedroom, and realize that what he saw in Charles’ eyes the day he asked about the room was fear. A deep-rooted, nearly panic-like fear. 

And this is what sits heavy on Erik’s stomach for the whole of the next day, because Charles has led an easy, soft life that would theoretically not allow for that kind of fear to build inside him, to any kind of stimuli. Then he remembers William said Charles has his traumas—but what traumas could a rich, pampered boy have?

On the evening of that day he asks Raven.

She turns around, picks up her coat and says “Don’t ask again.” 

By the time the next evening comes around, Erik is restless and concerned, something tight and dark having taken residence at the bottom of his stomach. And this here is the problem: Erik’s never had to deal with concern over anyone else. He’s been alone since he escaped Shaw, responsible for and accountable to no one. 

He doesn’t know how to come about this uncomfortable feeling.

Charles, on the other hand, seems to have completely forgotten the existence of that bedroom. Erik is upset and in someone with his conditioning concern translates quickly into irritation. Aggression, it seems, is his default. 

Charles is saying something as he opens a book, absently flipping through the pages to look for something he wants to show Erik. 

It’s come to Erik that Charles hides behind a thousand masks, using the thoughts of others as blanket to cover his own. This is how he’s kept hims fear hidden and tucked away from Erik all this time, and it drives Erik insane that he might be hiding something else, to which he has no access. Erik is honest with Charles—he would only expect to have this favor returned. 

Yet he remembers the way Charles reacted to his question, the look William gave him, and the way Raven paled as she turned away. 

Despite himself he doesn’t dare bring up the subject, and instead latches onto something else that bothers him. 

“You’re childishly optimistic,” he cuts through what Charles was saying, harshly. 

Charles is startled by the vehemence with which he’s said this, and blinks at him blankly. Slowly, he closes the book and moves away from the book shelves, and oh, Erik can see what he’s doing—bracing himself to withstand the storm of Erik’s anger, as he’s done several other times, like a tree that bends to the wind but never breaks. 

This man. This infuriating, soft man with a mind like diamond that isn’t afraid of Erik, a murderer by his own choice that’s made it his life mission to obtain revenge on the world as a whole. This man is afraid of a _locked door._

“The humans will never see us as anything but freaks, you do understand that, don’t you?” 

“Erik,” Charles looks cautious now, patient but trying to figure out what’s triggered this new outburst. “I understand it’s difficult for you to—“

“Do you really, Charles?” Erik surges up from his chair, suddenly infused with restless, fluid fury that makes it impossible for him to be still. “Sometimes I feel like we talk, and you hear me but you never _listen._ ” 

Which is unfair, and unjust, but Erik is quite beyond caring. 

“I listen to you,” Charles says gently. “And I know you don’t trust easily, for which I can hardly blame you, but declaring war on humanity won’t fix anything, Erik. Violence engenders more violence, and—“

“I’ve heard this before,” Erik snaps, pacing. “It’s always the same with you, you shy away from what needs to be done, recoil at the mention of violence, but you don’t mind _me_ being violent, do you?” 

Here Charles frowns, “Of course I do. That’s my point, Erik. Violence is never the answer.” 

“No, that’s not what you’re in for,” Erik says, rounding on Charles brusquely. “You’re a natural leader, did you know that, Charles? You’ve got that special sort of charisma that draws people in, makes them want to do things _for_ you. Have you noticed that?”

Charles’s face is growing ever darker. “I’m not entirely certain I see where this is going, Erik.”

“Yes you do,” Erik snaps. “You’re comfortable making other people do things for you while you stay back, aren’t you? Like the king in the chessboard.” 

Charles’ face goes chalk-white. 

“You don’t really think that,” he says quietly, voice shaking. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really bothering you?” 

“ _This_ is bothering me! Stay out of my head!” 

“I am _not_ reading your mind,” Charles protests, moving forward and dropping the book carelessly on the table. “But we have spoken about this before, you would have told me before if this was really what you thought. There must be something else—“

“Must everything always have an undercurrent with you?” Erik asks venomously. “Are conversations never simple, straightforward?” 

“Not when you’re concealing a concern with an aggression,” Charles replies, and seems to be getting angry. 

Erik relishes the ability to ruffle the calm man’s feathers, to awaken in him something other than gentle affection and concern. 

“Haven’t you ever considered it?” Erik asks, a mocking smile curving his long mouth. “You’re the leader, and we’re all the pawns. Your cannon fodder, if you’d like.”

“No. I’ve never considered it, because you’re not my pawns, as I am not your leader—“

“Don’t lie to yourself, Charles, none of this would have happened if not for you.”

Charles looks away and too late Erik remembers Darwin is dead. That wasn’t Charles’ fault at all—it was Shaw’s—but it would be _just like Charles_ to feel guilty. But he doesn’t want Charles to feel guilty and sad—he wants him to be _angry_ , alive with the fever of rage, because oh, Charles can be magnificent sometimes, but he is perpetually holding himself back, and it drives Erik _mad_. 

“If you can’t stomach the responsibilities of being in charge, maybe step off the throne, Charles.”

“I’m not _in_ a throne,” Charles insists, growing exasperated, which is still not what Erik wants. “Erik, I don’t know what’s gotten into you. Why are you so angry?”

“I’m angry because you’re nominally so against violence, but you’ve no trouble on having us do the violence for you!”

“I would _never_ ask that of you!” Charles raises his voice for the first time ever in Erik’s presence. Now they’re getting somewhere, Erik thinks. He hears himself and instantly recoils, stunned at the volume. 

“What are you trying to do?” he asks suddenly, blue eyes sharp. “Why are trying to provoke me?” 

“Is that what I’m doing?” Erik sneers. “You would know, wouldn’t you?”

“I told you, I’m _not in your head_.” 

“You know that’s a lie, you’re always in our heads—“

“Erik, just tell me what I’ve done and I’ll apologize!” Charles throws up his hands. “I’ll not let you force me into reading tour mind to get it! I don’t know what I did or said, but I assure you, I didn’t mean to bother you!” 

“Stop holding back!” Erik snarls. 

“You just told me to stay out of your head. Listen to yourself!” 

“What I want you to do is stop _hiding from me_!”

“I’m not—“

Erik crowds in on him, so that Charles has to look up to stare into his eyes—which he does, because Charles might be a lot of things, not all of them good, but he’s sure as hell not a coward. Erik looks down at him, speaking directly into his face.

“Oh, yes you are, stop lying! All these masks, all these pleasant smiles, how you shrug off my words whenever I say something I _know_ hurts you. Why don’t you ever retaliate, defend yourself? Why do you just let me get away with it?”

“Because I keep telling you—violence brings more violence! I won’t take your bait only to prove you right!”

“You say you don’t want us to hide, but you hide more than any of us!” 

“You have no _idea_ what my powers can do to people!” Charles hisses, eyes wide, impossibly blue. He looks positively furious now, face livid except for the flushed cheeks, and Erik thinks now they’re getting somewhere. 

“Then show me!” Erik mocks, straightening to tower over Charles, reaching up with his hand to push back his hair that’s fallen into disarray—

Charles flinches back, brusquely and visibly. 

Erik freezes. 

Charles realizes his mistake almost instantly, blue eyes wide, face draining of all color. 

“What…?” Erik lowers his hand slowly, narrowing his eyes. “What are you doing?”

The telepath stops immediately—he doesn’t seem to have noticed he was backing away from Erik, inching closer to the door. 

Realization falls over Erik like a bucket of freezing water. Anger drains away quickly as irritation morphs into shock and disbelief. 

“You thought I was going to _hit_ you?” 

Charles’ eyes dart away, shoulders pulling in as if he were trying to curl in on himself. Erik feels something tight inside his chest coil in even tighter as his stomach turns. 

“You—you were so very angry, I only—no matter, I’m sorry, I’m _sorry_.” 

“ _Stop_ that,” Erik demanded savagely. “Why would you think I would hit you? I would never hurt you, Charles.”

His tone isn’t helping. Charles is pulling back, slowly and cautiously but without stopping, as if being in this room with Erik right now is absolutely unbearable. Erik backs off, suddenly all too aware of how much taller he is, how much stronger, how easy it would be to overpower the smaller man, and how very well aware of that Charles is. 

There is something deeply wrong here, and Erik can’t quite figure out what it is—but he knows he’s seen that look somewhere, that reaction, that expectation to be hurt because something’s been done that shouldn’t have. 

“I—I think I will go lie down for a while,” Charles says quickly. He turns and almost literally flees the room, leaving behind a very confused, increasingly angry Erik. 

Erik leaves the study and hunts down William, who is normally to be found near Charles but is today conspicuously gone. He finds him in the hall, speaking with the goundkeeper in hush tones about the lawn, or something. 

“Whose room is it?” he demands harshly, grabbing the older man by the arm and dragging him away. 

“Sir, I do beg you contain your—“

“ _Whose room is it?_ hit him,” Erik hisses. “Tell me!” 

William sighs, shakes his head. His shoulders seem to slump, his arrogance fade away. 

“It used to belong to Master Charles’ stepfather, Kurt. I don’t know the details, and I would not dare ask Master Charles, so I don’t know for how long it went on without my awareness. But one night when Master Charles was fourteen, Raven came knocking on my door, frenetic, and insisted I go check on Master Charles. When I found him, the poor boy was quite badly off. I had to take him to a hospital. I never knew what happened that night, but of course I pressed charges against the man, and Mistress Rose divorced immediately. I have no inkling on how much damage Kurt did that I was too careless to see, but as soon as Kurt left Master Charles locked the room and lost the key.” 

Erik is torn between blinding rage and overwhelming grief, although to be honest the rage is eating up terrain fast. 

“What about his _mother_? How could she not notice?” 

William gives him a jaded look. 

“If I failed to notice, Mr. Lehnsherr, you can hardly be surprised she did as well. I spent rather a lot more time with the boy than she ever did. Master Charles was always quiet and withdrawn, and his mother rarely noticed him.”

Erik throws him a wordless look, opens the door and storms out of the room and up the stairs, fueled by a flame of wrath so great he fears it might escape him and set fire to the house. In less than five minutes he’s back in Charles’ study, across the room and at the door to the bedroom. He grabs the doorknob and pushes and—

It’s locked. 

Charles has never locked his bedroom, not once, not ever, since they have known each other. Erik feels the urge to rip the door from its hinges, invade the room and _make_ Charles face him, and oh, it would be so _easy_. 

Except Charles, as it turns out, is an abused child. And there’s one thing Erik knows about abused children, and it’s you can’t force yourselves on them and demand an explanation. 

So he takes a deep breath, reins in his temper, and makes an effort to calm down. 

“Charles,” he says evenly to the door, knowing he’ll be heard. “I’ll come back tomorrow, and we’ll talk. Just…” he hesitates, unsure of what to say. Know that I’d never hurt you? I’ll never let anyone lay a hand on you again? You’re safe so long as I’m alive? It’s not your fault—you didn’t deserve that—you were the victim? 

He settles for a quiet “Good night, Charles.”


	2. Chapter 2

Erik does return the following day, but Charles isn’t in his bedroom. 

“Where is he?” he asks William, arching a brow when the man starts, surprised. 

“Please cease to sneak up on me, sir,” the butler says, unimpressed. “It is quite unbecoming.” 

“Please start being more aware of your surroundings,” Erik replies, arching a brow. “Now, where is he? And don’t even bother lying to me, I don’t like that, it’s tedious.” 

William releases a sigh that implies he is the most put-upon being in the entirety of the vast Universe. Erik thinks his own position allows him to compete, but then again, this man has to clean up after Sean and Hank. Maybe William can win, just this once. 

“He’s in the garden by the pond. He likes going there, its’ very quiet. I might point out that he goes there when he wants to be _alone_.”

“You might,” Erik agrees, brushing by him to go to the pond. 

Charles is lying on the grass, eyes closed, enjoying the sun on his face. He flicks his eyes open when Erik looms over him, his long shadow falling across Charles’ pale face. Erik sits down, stretching his long legs and leaning back on his hands, staring at the sky. 

There is a long silence, as Erik gives Charles the opportunity to settle himself. He knows the telepath is uneasy and nervous by the way he’s moved slightly away from Erik, where he would normally move closer. 

Erik debates on a way to start this conversation, and finally arrives at the conclusion there is really no delicate manner of going about this subject, or if there is, he’s simply not built to figure it out. Charles is the delicate one, after all. 

“You realize, I hope,” he stars softly, still not looking at Charles. “That you are no longer a helpless child.”

It is, in fact, debatable whether he ever was—Charles’ gift manifested very early. But one way or the other, he was still abused, so Erik doesn’t point that out. Besides—Erik wasn’t very helpless either, at that age, and see if that stopped Shaw. 

“And you know, I would expect, that he would have to go through a lot of very powerful, very angry people to get to you now. Not to mention me.” 

Now he turns to look at Charles, and finds the telepath has closed his eyes. 

“Intellectually,” he concedes, “I understand that.”

“You have to know, surely you must _know_ ,” Erik insists, straightening. “I would never hurt you, Charles. Never.” 

“Oh, Erik, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for you to feel like this. I know that, of course, yes.”

There is another long silence, as they look at each other. 

“Why did you not tell me?” Erik asks. “Of us all, am I not the one that would understand?” 

Charles sits up, “Yes. Yes, you are. That’s precisely why I—Erik. You have your demons. I could hardly ask you to help me deal with mine.”

“Charles,” Erik says gently, “Do you not trust anyone?” 

The telepath looks away. 

“Charles, goddamnit,” Erik turns to face his friend, trying to remain calm. He doesn’t want to trigger Charles, and he doesn’t know how bad this situation even is. Not even William knows, and he was there. “You saw what Shaw did to me. Let me help you like you help me, for once!”

Charles swallows, closing his eyes for a long moment. 

“Why the room?” Erik asks, taking a deep breath. “It’s an empty room, Charles. The man is gone. Why are you afraid of it?” 

“No one ever went in there,” Charles murmurs. “That’s where he’d take me to—right. That’s—let’s not talk about this, Erik, please.” 

Erik feels a shiver of cold horror run down his spine, and he grips Charles’ wrist, only realizing a second too late that it’s the wrong thing to do. Charles flinches, and Erik releases his wrist as if it were on fire. It’s jarring because Charles has never rejected his touch before, and Erik’s become comfortable in being rather tactile with the man. 

“Did he—Charles, was it just violence, or…?”

“No,” Charles says firmly, shaking his head. “No, he never—no. He did it in his room because—well, he’d told everyone to stay out of it, even the maids. No one would stumble upon us there. But he never—he just wanted to hurt me.”

In Erik’s experience, the desire to hurt and humiliate someone that is weaker than yourself often comes hand-in-hand with sexual domination, non-consensual situations in which the stronger person reaffirms his power by forcing themselves onto the other. Erik himself did not go through this as Shaw was more interested in his powers than anything else, but he knows this is not unusual. 

He’s reluctant to push Charles on the subject, though, and would like to think Charles would not lie to him about this. 

“How long did he do this to you?” Erik asks carefully. 

“You spoke to William, I assume,” Charles says without rancor, shoulders slumping. 

“He didn’t know.”

“No, certainly not. William is… well, he was devastated that he hadn’t noticed. I could never tell him the truth. It—“ he releases a breath. “Two years. Just about.”

“You kept quiet for _two years_?” Erik is horrified. 

“I didn’t—I didn’t know what to do, who to tell. Kurt—he told me if I told anyone he’d hurt Raven, and I knew he was telling the truth, he didn’t lie to me, not ever. I thought—if I told William, he’d get rid of him, and Erik, William was the only person in that house that cared about us. I couldn’t possibly bear losing him.”

Charles is trembling now, his breath shaky. Erik feels sick and tries to steady his own racing heartbeat, throat dry. 

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” he says. “I’m not asking you to justify yourself. I just want to help you, Charles, I want to understand. Why didn’t you stop him? You could use your powers then, I know.” 

“Oh, Erik,” Charles drops his head to his hands. “That’s how it started. It was my fault, it was all my fault.” 

Erik scoffs, “Charles, you’ve studied psychology. I know you know you didn’t make your stepfather hit you, he did it all on his own—“

“No, he did not. Kurt and I never got along, true, but he never loathed me as much as he did once Raven came along.” 

Erik is confused. He opens his mouth to say something, but Charles barrels on, lifting his head to look out to the distance. 

“I started it all, Erik. I needed them to let Raven stay with us. So I manipulated their mind, with no finesse whatsoever, I made them think they wanted a little girl and my mother didn’t want to bear another pregnancy. I made them want to adopt her.” 

Erik swallows, heart jumping to his throat. 

“My mother was fine, she was always quite easy to convince. But Kurt—Kurt had a strong will, he knew himself well. I could make him want a girl then, but he knew he’d never wanted children _before_ , so he knew something was off. And he knew something was wrong with me from the start.” 

“Nothing was _wrong_ —“

Charles isn’t listening. “He knew I’d manipulated him somehow. It—went downhill from there. Quite quickly. His fear made him repulsed and it soon escalated to verbal aggression. He wouldn’t do it when William or mother were around, of course, but whenever he caught me alone or only with Raven, who he avoided like the plague… until one time he did it and William happened to overhear him.”

“William was—of course he didn’t have any actual authority, but oh, Erik, William can be quite scary himself, when he so wishes. So the next time he got angry at me, Kurt took me to his bedroom to yell at me. I don’t know how—one thing led to the other, I suppose. It started with a slap, I remember. I didn’t think—well, it wasn’t that bad, and I knew parents often slapped their children.”

Charles is wringing his hands, worrying his long, delicate fingers. Erik watches as in a trance, shaking, unsure of whether he’s overrun by fury or sorrow. 

“It—escalated from there, naturally. I suppose it always does.” 

“You didn’t tell your mother?” Erik rasps. 

“Oh. I—yes. Yes, I did. She… was not amused. She wouldn’t believe me. He was smart, Kurt—he didn’t… leave marks.” 

“And Raven?”

“Erik, please, stop. Don’t—stop asking, _please_.” 

And this is one of the fascinating things about Charles: the fact he is simultaneously the most powerful and the most vulnerable person he knows. 

Carefully, moving slowly so Charles can move away should he chose to, Erik slides his arm around the smaller man’s shoulders and brings him in close to his side, encouraging him to lay his head on his shoulder. 

“Whatever you might have done,” Erik says tenderly. “It doesn’t justify his actions. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t deserve to go through that. You were only a boy.” 

Charles shakes his head in disagreement, but he doesn’t speak. 

“But I understand now,” Erik continues, cautiously tightening his hold on Charles until he’s holding him fiercely. “Why you’re so fiercely against violence, and why you understand what Shaw did to me so well. I thought you’d lived such a different life, Charles.”

“Oh, good grief. What Kurt did to me is nothing, nothing compared to—I was very lucky, nonetheless.” 

“Don’t belittle it,” Erik chides firmly. “No child should ever have to be terrified in their own goddamn home.” 

“Which is why—“ Charles moves away suddenly, looking at Erik intently through glassy eyes. “Erik, I would never force your mind, you must know that, I might read it, yes, but I will _never_ manipulate you, you must trust me on this, it’s _important_.”

Erik feels something breaking apart in his chest. 

“I trust you, Charles,” he murmurs, smoothing the hair away from Charles’ panic-stricken face. “And you must know that I will never, ever lift a hand against you. You’re safe with me, Charles.”

“I don’t feel like I’m safe anywhere, with anyone,” Charles says, so honestly it _hurts_. “But Erik, I’m trying. I swear, I’m trying to—“

“ _Stop_ that,” Erik scolds. “You’re not doing anything wrong that you need to ask my forgiveness for. Calm down. You’ll learn to trust me in time. There’s no point in rushing when neither of us is going anywhere.” 

Charles nods, swallows thickly. 

“I told Sean we’d help him with his flight training this afternoon,” Charles says, and Erik closes his eyes, because he knows Charles is changing the subject and oh, there’s so much more Erik wants to say. 

But instead he says, “I’ve been thinking about that,” and lets Charles get away. 

The rest of the day goes smoothly enough, though Erik stills feels uneasy and restless. Charles excuses himself from dinner without having eaten a single bite, and goes to bed early, begging out of their usual chess game. 

Erik lets him, not knowing what to do even as he watches him pull away. Charles looks haggard and worn, as if the weight of the day has landed heavy on his shoulders, and Erik knows he’s forced himself to be his usual cheerful self for the children. Another mask.

He goes to bed, but doesn’t fall asleep until well into the night. 

He wakes early the next morning and takes a shower, means to search out William and make a few questions about the current whereabouts of one Kurt whatever his last-name is (he’s quite sure William will very much approve of his intentions). He puts on his undershirt and shaves and just as he’s washing his face, there’s a knock at the door. 

It’s Charles, looking tired and like he’s had an awfully bad night, but there’s resolve in his eyes. 

“I’d like your help with something, if you can spare a moment.”

“Sure,” Erik says, snatching up a deep-blue turtleneck and twisting impatiently into it as he follows Charles into the hallway. 

He’s busy inconspicuously studying Charles’ profile, so much so he doesn’t notice where they’re going until Charles stops and Erik looks at where they are—

The door stands in front of them. 

Erik stares at Charles, stunned. 

“I seem to have misplaced the key,” Charles shrugs. “Very embarrassing.” 

“You don’t have to do this.” 

“I very much do,” Charles replies, setting his jaw. “I’ll not live dragging this with me everywhere. I’ll not let him do that to me. It’s quite enough, I think.” 

“Charles, I want you to do this. But you have to do it because you feel it’s the right time, not because I’m pressuring you. You’ve avoided this room for years—don’t go in to it for me.” 

“I’m not,” Charles says softly. “I… it’s been a long time, Erik. I don’t want to be haunted by this any longer. Please. Open the lock.” 

Erik sighs, and reaches out to brush his fingers over the lock. It’s not necessary, but it feels right. He feels it slide open, the mechanism folding to his will. Charles grabs the lock and turns it, pushes the door so it opens inward, and—

Stands still in the doorway, paralyzed. 

Erik closes his eyes, opens them again and brushes by him into the bedroom. A thick coating of dust lays over everything, proof that no one’s visited this room, not even to clean, in several years. Its’ quite harmless—rather bare, in fact, accountable perhaps to the fact Kurt was very thoroughly kicked out. There’s a sheet-less bed, a chair face-down over the desk, an empty wardrobe with its doors wide-open. 

There’s nothing in here, except for memories. 

Erik turns around, looks at Charles still in the doorway. 

“Just an empty room, Charles,” he says softly. “Nothing to be scared of.” 

But Charles doesn’t move. Erik moves closer and slowly, carefully, grips Charles’ hand and eases him into the room, walking backwards and almost dragging the telepath in his wake. 

“Nothing to fear, Charles,” he murmurs, bringing the man close against his chest. “The only other person here with you now is me.” 

_And so many ghosts_ , Charles’ mind whispers into his own, shaky and weary. 

“Nevermind the ghosts,” Erik says tenderly. “They can’t hurt you.” 

_And yet they do._

Erik sighs and wraps his arms around Charles’ lithe form, looking around. He makes a bold decision, and has to struggle with it the moment the door clicks shut and Charles stiffens in his arms, his hands coming up to fist Erik’s sweater and push away. 

“Easy,” Erik says, walking backwards without releasing Charles. “It’s just a room, Charles. A floor, four walls and a ceiling. Not very challenging at all.” 

“I’d like to leave now,” Charles protests, now beginning to struggle against Erik’s chest.

“Just a little while longer,” Erik replies. 

He turns, and gently but firmly pushes Charles down onto the bed. Charles is visibly alarmed now, and attempts to get back up, but Erik insists. If he truly wanted to, Charles could put an end to this with a simple thought—but he doesn’t stop Erik, and that says _something_. Charles is not a child anymore, scared of using his powers, and he and Erik are close enough the telepath knows Erik would not be upset or angry. 

Erik settles down on the bed, on his back, and guides Charles to sprawl over him, face against his neck. The long curving line of Charles’ back is stiff and tense, and Erik smoothes a hand down to his waist and back up, over and over, soothing, reassuring. 

“There’s no one here but us, Charles. Relax.” 

It takes hours before Charles’ body become limps over Erik’s. Charles finally falls into an uneasy doze and Erik looks out the window and notices the sun if high up now, probably closer to noon. 

Erik takes a moment to be awed, that he’s got Charles, safely on his arms, in the room that plagues his nightmares, asleep. At some point he must fall asleep himself, because he comes brusquely awake when Charles shifts, inhaling deeply as he stirs. 

“Oh. Oh, dear—I must be crushing you. Allow me—“

“I’m comfortable,” Erik says, because he really, really is. He reaches up to wrap his arms more securely around Charles’ back, blinking sleepily. He shifts on the bed, bringing up a leg to press his foot on the mattress and get even more comfortable. “This is nice. I should sleep with you more often. On empty, dusty, old bedrooms.”

“Why yes, that sounds quite lovely indeed,” Charles says, sounding not the least enchanted with the idea. 

“Hm. Don’t turn now, but there’s a cockroach the size of your head on the opposite wall.”

Charles stiffens. His wide eyes dart down at Erik’s steel-blue ones. 

“Um. Did you know, we used to have a rat problem?”

Erik stares. “Alright. Explain to me how that is relevant.” 

“Right. Well—you see—there is a, um, rather—well. There’s a rat—in bed with us.” 

Erik releases him so quickly they both fall right off the bed, spring to their feet and run to the door, where Erik pushes the telepath ahead of him. 

“You didn’t think to mention that before?” Erik demands in a hiss as he stumbles out the door, which obediently slams and locks behind them. “Rats and cockroaches? _Really_?” 

“I wasn’t planning on falling into bed with you in Kurt’s bedroom, surprisingly,” Charles retorts, dusting his sweater like it’s on fire. Erik indulges in a moment of triumph when Charles shows no apparent panic at the mention of the room. “You’re the one that wouldn’t let me get up, remember?”

“You didn’t look like you might complain were you were _using me as your mattress_.” 

“You weren’t exactly complaining about me being _on top of you_ , either, if I’ll recall correctly.” 

Then Charles freezes, straightens and brushes his hair back with dignity. 

“Good afternoon, William,” he says politely. 

Erik whirls around. William is standing a foot from him, hands behind his back, tall and elegant and decorous as only an Englishman can be. He looks straight through Erik, and then gives Charles what might possibly pass as an affectionate glance for an English butler. 

“And to you, Master Charles,” he drawls, unimpressed. “I trust the issue with the room has been resolved satisfactorily?” 

“Well. Others have arisen,” Charles says, and Erik cannot believe it, but here he is with two Englishmen having a conversation about infestations when Charles and he have just faced and conquered Charles’ demons and clearly William thinks they did it with their clothes off. 

“Ah. I shall have to care for that at once. Is there anything else you might need?” 

Erik thinks, _tell him we aren’t fucking, go on_ , because really, William would never forgive Erik, but his face would probably be priceless. But Charles shoots him a dark look, and shakes his head. 

“That will be all, thank you, William.” 

“Hm. Mr. Lehnsherr, Master Charles.” 

The butler slips away as quietly as he arrived. 

“And he complains about _me_ sneaking up on people,” Erik grumbles. 

Charles laughs, out loud and boyish and light, and Erik can’t help but grin, and go easily along when Charles gently grasps his arm and steers him towards the stairs. 

“Let us get something to eat, Saint George.”


End file.
